


Superior Swordplay

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Swords & Fencing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2011-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gets captured and tied up. Then he gets to watch a sword fight.  It's not a bad day, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superior Swordplay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "blades" square of my second [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Set late in the movie era, between ST V and ST VI. Beta'd by [](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/profile)[nix_this](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/).

 

 

 

In the middle of the tense standoff with the tall, tripedal Iononononolonian kidnappers that began right after his would-be rescuers burst in, Jim distinctly heard Commander-soon-to-be-Captain Sulu swear. He turned as far as he was able given that he was currently trussed up like a particularly handsome Thanksgiving turkey, and gave the man a sharp look, because soon-to-be-Captains ought to damn well know that proper decorum never hurt anyone.

“Screw this,” Sulu muttered. “I signed on for a rescue mission, not a diplomatic tête-à-tête.” He snapped around, somehow straightening his already straight shoulders, and shot the leader of the alien raiding party a boastful look. “Let’s you and me settle this the old-fashioned way.” And he pointed deliberately to the large, lethal-looking blades carried by the leader’s entourage.

“Sulu,” began Bones urgently, “what in the _hells_ do you—”

“You, tiny two-legs, dare to challenge us for the prisoner?” The leader’s incredulity hung in the air like a halo of gas waiting to explode.

For long, long moments all was still.

Jim mentally kissed his ass goodbye. How annoying that he was going to meet his maker like this, wrapped up in far more yards of scratchy beige rope than strictly necessary.

Death. Not the best possible end to the mission. He blew out a slow breath and waited for the inevitable. Or possibly the whine of the transporter, if Mister Scott had managed his miracle even further ahead of time than usual.

Then, “Name your combat partner!” came the verdict, booming and deadly.

Sulu barely glanced at the landing party, just pointed directly at Spock. He had the decency to send Jim an apologetic look afterwards. And so he should, putting his commanding officer’s lover in danger like that. But at least Spock had some facility with edged weapons. Jim was really far better at knocking people out cold with tiny little taps that barely even seemed to connect, the occasional spectacular double drop kick, and related Kirk-Fu disciplines of unarmed combat (lessons available on request).

Spock nodded his acceptance of Sulu’s pronouncement, pausing to remove his uniform jacket and tunic before gravely taking up the enormous sword and shield offered by a svelte chartreuse Iononononolonian.

At any other time, Jim might have enjoyed the sight of his Vulcan prancing around in his sleeveless thermal undershirt waving a sword whose heft caused his muscles to flex and ripple delightfully. Well, okay, he _did_ enjoy it. He just couldn’t enjoy it with more than .05% of his attention on account of the serious threat to life and limb going on here. Especially _his_ life and limbs, since he was the one all tied up in the middle of a two-on-two sword fight where one side had extra arms. Most of him was busy calculating probabilities, coming up with plans for what they’d do here in terms of desperate last long-shots if the fight ended badly, working out whether it would cause some kind of riot if Sulu and Spock actually won… Not to mention getting him out of his ropes... (Why, he hadn’t been tied up so tightly since that delightful coed at the academy developed an interest in Japanese rope bondage and needed a partner...) He shouldn’t be noticing how nicely Spock’s biceps still bulged when sufficiently motivated, or how his silky hair, still solid black despite the grey creeping in among the hairs on his chest and treasure trail, gleamed in a way very unlike the sword when it caught the light.

And he absolutely, definitely, positively should not be captivated by just how attractive that piratical, blood-lusty grin rendered Sulu. The fellow really had aged well.

Sulu’s footwork was fancy, but Spock stood and waited to counter his opponent’s attacks. Taking the measure of him, Jim thought. Good strategy.

Swords swung and collided, sparks flew, sweating flesh and polished metal shone in the golden torchlight. For a moment, Jim was sure he could pull off a genuine swoon if he tried.

“Aren’t we getting a bit old for this?” Bones muttered, as the alien leader drew first blood with a tiny nick to Sulu’s shoulder which merely made the man laugh and strike back harder. Good old Bones had somehow crept up and was now unobtrusively hacking at Jim’s bonds with some handy piece of medical equipment.

“You’re only as old as you feel, Bones.” Jim was starting to feel far too frisky for sixt--er, fifty-something. He was also finally starting to have some luck with the knots around his wrists, with the good doctor’s timely assistance.

“Speak for your damn self.”

The battle was over surprisingly quickly. The arguments that followed were not. Apparently, Sulu and Spock had won, but they’d done so with an illegal move. Not good. However, it was an illegal move that only someone well-versed in the traditional codes of warrior honour on this planet could have _known_ was illegal. So just about everyone was now talking at once, trying to work out a solution that wouldn’t dishonour either the outsiders who had fought honourably (ignorance was not dishonourable) or the locals who had lost to those who were utterly unfamiliar with their weapons and methods.

“Enough!” cried the leader suddenly, so loud it made Jim’s ears hurt. “We propose the following compromise: you keep your victory, and we punish you for the rules violation the next time you set foot on our lands.”

“Works for me,” Sulu said immediately, holding out his hand for a deal-sealing shake.

Jim had to admit, it was an elegant enough solution. They all knew, either officially or unofficially, that Sulu was due to take command of the newly-refurbished _Excelsior_ on a long-term survey mission in Beta Quadrant in a few weeks. The chances he’d ever come back this way and have to face the music were slim to none.

“May I keep this blade?” Spock asked gently, admiring it in the light. “It has served me well.”

 _Ooh._ Could he? Could he? Percipient as he was, Jim instantly foresaw hours of pleasure arising from Spock’s having such a weapon on hand in their quarters and thus being able to demonstrate his sexy fighting prowess on demand.

“You honour us,” the leader said, bowing low. It actually sounded like he meant it.

Spock replied with some suitably elegant phrase in the leader’s language, and that seemed to soothe all the remaining ruffled feathers. A juvenile Iononononolonian even came to cut Jim free of the bonds remaining around his legs and handsomely bare chest. (She followed up with a squeeze to his ass that Jim was pretty sure couldn’t be explained by any need to ensure his circulation hadn’t been adversely affected by his bondage. James T. Kirk: damned sexy even to tripeds. Of course, given the impressive size of his James T. Cock, it’s possible they consider him an honorary triped.)

Hmpf. This had turned out to be one of those missions where the famed and mighty Captain Kirk actually wasn’t needed. Spock and Sulu had saved the day quite handily. Still, he’d been here to enjoy that masterful display of swordsmanship. And he wouldn’t have missed that for the stars.

Just as things were starting to get a little uncomfortable, Uhura came through on the communicator to announce that Scotty had indeed succeeded in repairing the transporter systems in record time and they were good to beam up. Excellent. Jim slung an arm around Spock’s waist and another around Sulu’s shoulders as they headed out to the official beam-up point.

“So, any chance we could, shall we say...”

Sulu sighed a long and regretful sigh. “You’re going to make some awful pun about swords and sheaths and invite me to a threesome, aren’t you?”

Jim did his very best to keep from pouting, honest he did. “Maybe,” he replied, all perfect cagey poker face.

On his other side, Spock did the Vulcan equivalent of an eye-roll. Which was a twitch of one eyebrow measuring no more than three millimetres.

“This,” Sulu said, slipping free of Jim’s hold to take his place in the formation for beam-up, “is exactly why Pavel doesn’t let me practice my swordplay in public.”

Jim blinked. “Is that a no?”

Sulu’s smile dissolved into the bright swirling chaos of beam-up before Jim could begin to work out what it meant.

***END***


End file.
